the ever-closing door behind the cigarette store

these people are dime a dozen but they hardly know how to smile and have little to no appreciation for the sweet sweet things in life like tomatoes or a good cup of coffee and how little the details get sometimes: a bit of sunlight blowing through the room, a tiny fleck of dew on the petal of a simple and unremarkable flower (yet notice how I remark about it still) and that�s how that�s how when people ask why I hardly get rattled about things that�s how because for most people, this life is the ever-closing door behind the cigarette store. It�s a list of things that they can see but never have dream but never do think but never believe---
it�s true that I don�t get all of my preferences fulfilled, it�s true that I get hardly any at all most of the time, but hell, the door may be closing to the cigarette store, but look at all of this still open. I can walk streets under big arching streetlamps any time of day and sit in green grass anytime I choose or rest leaning against the shitty little rock sculpture in front of my place and so can you so can you, you mostly just don�t bother noticing.
In �TB sheets� you hear a broken man watching his love waste away (how helpless he is) and I hear a man so lucky to have a love like her (for as long as he got/gets her) and a woman so lucky to have a love that stands by her until the end however bad it gets and I think that�s what makes the whole damn thing so interesting and lucky for each and every one of us.


2004-10-22 | 12:01 p.m.
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